Page 50 of Curses and Cornstalks
He doesn’t hesitate to plunge two fingers inside me, and I moan into his mouth. I’m soaking wet and ready for him, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Atticus, it’s that he doesn’t like quickies. He wants to tease me, drag it out, fill me with his tongue, his fingers, and his cock before letting me finish.
I can’t say that I blame him.
If I’d been deprived of sex for a hundred years, I’d take my time and relish every second too.
“You’re so wet for me,” he rumbles as his fingers slowly slide in and out. I rock my hips in response, meeting each thrust of his fingers. “And so fucking responsive.”
His thumb finds my clit, and I jump at the contact. It’s so sensitive and swollen that the slightest touch has me reeling. As he teases slow circles around it and pumps his fingers into me, his free hand tangles in the hair at the nape of my neck and tugs just enough to ache.
I whimper.
“I want you to come for me before you ride my cock.” He plunges his fingers deeper. “I want to hear how good you sound when you fall apart.”
“Fuckkk,” I moan, rocking my hips faster as his thumb speeds up on my clit.
It didn’t take this man long at all to figure out what drives me crazy or what turns me into feral, horny mess, but he’s fucking good at it. Far better than he has any right to be.
“That’s it.” His voice wraps around me as heat spirals through my core, the tension building. “Fuck my fingers, darling. Take what you need.”
Something about Atticus’ southern twang, coupled with the filthy way he talks me through it, has me bucking my hips wilder and chasing my climax. It doesn’t take long, a few seconds at most, before the tidal wave of pleasure crashes into me and has me crying out.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I gasp as my body trembles.
Atticus swallows my steady stream of curses with a kiss as my walls clamp down on his fingers, and he smiles against my lips.
“So stunning,” he says, slowly slipping his hand out of my leggings. “Are you ready for my cock?”
I’m still coming down from the high of my orgasm, but I nod helplessly and fumble with his belt.
“Please,” I beg before he kisses me again.
He manages to shimmy his jeans and boxers down to his knees, his cock bobbing free and pressing against me. Getting my leggings down isn’t nearly as easy from this position, but it doesn’t deter Atticus. He grabs them with his hands, and the sound of ripping material fills the car.
Air kisses my heated, soaked thighs, and my jaw drops.
“Did you just… tear my leggings?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I’ll get you more,” is all he says before lining himself up and sinking into me with a single punch of his hips.
I no longer care about the fucking leggings.
“Fuck,” I gasp as he grabs my ass with both hands and lifts my hips, slamming me back down onto his cock.
He moans against my skin, peppering kisses around my throat, across my chest. There isn’t much room for me to ride him in this position without hitting my head on the roof of the car, so I point to the lever on the side of the seat.
“Pull that,” I urge.
Atticus obeys without question, and I shove him backward at the same time. His eyebrows shoot up as the seat lays almost flat, and my bare chest presses against his.
“That’s much better.” He smirks and grabs my hips again. “You better hold on tight.”
I barely have time to grab the seat above his shoulders before he slams into me, picking up a steady pace and dragging me down to meet each of his thrusts. He fucks me fast, barely giving me a chance to catch my breath between the steady string of moans knocking from my lips.
When he takes one of my nipples between his teeth, it sends an electric jolt directly to my clit.
I won’t last long like this.
“Are you going to come for me again?” he asks, his voice gruff. “Are you going to soak my cock, darling?”
